


The Gamble of Gywdion

by TheBlueMenace



Series: Harry's Quest [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, King's Quest IV - Fandom
Genre: 1988, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Close to Accurate Real World Publishing Timelines, Dwarves, Gen, Gwydion is Harry Potter, Gwydion is King of Llewdor, Harry Potter called something other than Harry Potter, Harry Potter was Adopted by Other(s), Historical Fantasy, King's Quest IV, Mild Language, Not Beta Read, Pan was a satyr, Puns & Word Play, Quests, Sierra Entertainment, Sierra On-Line, Spells & Enchantments, Talking Animals, The works of Roberta Williams, Video & Computer Games, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlueMenace/pseuds/TheBlueMenace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwydion's happiness is threatened when King Graham falls ill. A distant Fairy Queen has her own problems. A deal is struck. Can Gwydion save everyone in time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mid 1988: Teach a King to Wish

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger Warnings:** It may surprise you that I originally meant for this to be a humorous, light story, with wacky hijinks and slightly low brow humour. What it turned to be was something a bit darker. I feel I need to warn about the following situations/issue which while  not occurring ‘on screen’ or even being described in great detail, which is why I have not changed the rating to M, are discussed in this story: suicidal thoughts/depression, non-consensual body modification (body horror), emotional and mental child abuse, sexual slavery of a minor, torture, and killing of sentient beings. Really though, it isn’t much worse then a traditional fairy tale.

**This is a continuation of To Freak is Divine. I strongly recommend you read that first. **

A short reminder of To Freak is Divine (spoilers!): Freak, after running from his cousin Dudley, slips through a creak in reality and ends up on top of a Mountain in Llewdor, which was being ruled by the wizard Manannan. Accepting his name change to Gwydion, he starts to get to know the land he has ended up in, and has to come to terms with the possibility that Manannan may mean him harm. Along the way he makes friends with Medusa, a half snake half women who helps him understand animals and Manannan’s cat, who turns out is a be-spelled wizard. Eventually, finding out a plan to kidnap a Prince from a distant kingdom our hero turns Manannan into a cat, but its too late. Now the new king by conquest, Gwydion sets off, and after a number of disasters manages to rescue the Prince, earning the gratitude of his parents, the King and Queen of Daventry, who offer an alliance and lessons in rulership. 

* * *

Gwydion, once known as Freak-Harry-Boy, was standing in the courtyard of the Keep waiting for the sun to rise. Today was a Daventry day. The days of the week didn't have the same names as before, and in fact there wasn't really a 'week' in Sierra, instead the days were counted from the full moon exactly 30 days until the next full moon. So Gwydion traveled to Daventry for his lessons every third day, which, even if they didn't add up, Gwydion liked to think of as Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

Once Medusa had calmed down enough to even contemplate letting Gwydion out of her sight, she thought that an alliance with Daventry was a good idea, and took them up on the offer of lessons. The lesson were mostly things he probably would have learnt at school back Before, like reading and writing and maths, but he also had dance, etiquette, and horse riding lessons and sometimes had weapons lesson too. At home with Medusa (and sometimes Manannan and Letholdus) he had lessons about magic and history. He also had meetings, often about running the Kingdom, which Medusa mostly organised and took charge of. It was hard, but Gwydion was happy, especially when one of his teachers praised his work. He also had days (which he called Saturdays) when he was told to go out and play, explore the forests, laugh with the children who had returned to Llewdor after Manannan's defeat. He wasn't close to any, really, not with him being the King and all, but it was fun to play tag, hide and go seek, and make believe and not fear that any minute his cousin was going to appear.

Under Gwydion (and really Medusa) the trade routes had flourished, bringing people from all over. Gwydion could see from the courtyard the river which had replaced the tiny stream. Once Medusa, assisted by Geydion, had cleared the old banks of tree, the next rain saw the foot wide shallow stream become a 30 foot wide, at least 5 foot deep river over night. It was all to do with the magic of the land, and Gwydion, basically just by wanting it, had managed to open the trade route inland again. Now, at least once a week, slow moving barges could found making their way up to or down from the Kingdom of Évreux, or even further inland, all the way to Sovereignty of Serenia.

It had been a rather boring negotiation with the goblins, but in the end they had paid for half the repairs on the pier, and it wasn't unusual to see two or even three ships docked. From what Gwydion understood, Port Bruce was their only easy option for trade, as the Bog of Eternal Stench blocked their trade east, the Endless Desert their trade west, and the Great Northern Dark Forest their trade north. The goblins had been overjoyed that Gwydion not only allowed them to use the river, but that he had cleared the path himself.

Although the trade through Port Bruce didn't directly mean gold in the coffers, as there was no tax on goods sold or bought, the influx of people did. Four more houses had been built in town, and one Inn. The farms had tripled in size, and while not as productive as in Davenrty could now grow enough to sell the extra. To the west, things were just as obviously changed. The desert had been pushed all the way back to Medusa's Temple, which now stood sentinel over the entrance to the sands. Gwydion was still a little shocked at how quickly the trees had grown, doubling the size of the forest. At least two more cottages had been built in the forests, one housing the Bear's Cousins who had returned. It turned out the Bears were the old law enforcers of the area, and being unwilling to swear to Manannan had mostly left years ago. The remaining Bear family had survived on selling Mama Bears flowers and Papa Bear working as a lumberjack. Now, they had sworn to Gwydion and had returned to the constabulary. Gwydion was quiet impressed, no one was going to argue with a bear.

The other change, not visible from high above in the Keep, was the influx of non-humans. When Manannan had been in charge, Medusa and the Bears were the only non-human (outside of the Keep's chickens and Letholdus who most people didn't count) who lived in Llewdor. Now just under half of the ninety four citizens could claim non-human heritage, but as of yet still no other Old Ones. Medusa and Letholdus, after a long argument which Gwydion had to translate, had decided to not invite any Old Ones. Yet.

Medusa had also won the argument for a new servant, as Gwydion had neither the time nor would Medusa let him fill that role. The servant, called Zilya, was only just taller then Gwydion, and had fiery red hair which became red feathers at the temple and odd yellow eyes set in golden skin. Gwydions still wasn't sure if Zilya was a very pretty boy, or a somewhat masculine girl. What he did know was Zilya was a race of people closely related to firebirds, a magical race who were less human then even the goblins. Zilya had wandered into town looking for work and Medusa, after a few questions, had hired them on the spot, as firebirds couldn't lie. Zilya wasn't the smartest person Gwydion had meet, with a personality which strongly reminded him of Kenny the dog, but after very happily taking over the tower room, and had fit in well. And their cooking was really good, much better then Gwydion's, because they could control the fire as part of their magic.

Zilya had even cooked a giant cake for Gwydions eighth birthday!

Gwydion had gotten presents from all over, from Kingdoms he had never even heard of. Fine silks, strange foods, jewellery, and even swords and suits of armour. Medusa had let Gwydion keep some things, but most the rest had gone into the Kingdom's coffers, as Gwydion didn't need 30 feet of purple fairy spun silk, or a solid gold dagger. His family at the Keep had made a beautiful stone charm made from a what Medusa called 'callais' in the shape of a snake eating its own tail. It had been heavily enchanted to ward away evil magic, and they had spent a wonderful day going over all the spells and runes that made it up. One of the less exciting things had been Medusa insisting some of the fabrics were made into new clothes for Gwydion. He had found he disliked fittings immensely, having to stand still while being poked with pins was not fun in the least. As a King, Medusa had said he should expect some presents, but this year there were more, sent as celebration for defeating Manannan and becoming King, not to mention killing a dragon.

Medusa had made Gwydion talk about how he felt, not just killing the dragon, but accidentally killing the maid. Gwydion hadn't really believed her words about him not being at fault. It had been surprisingly Manannan who had somewhat gotten through to Gwydion in the end, saying "It's in the past. You can't change it. If the prince asks if you regret saving him, will you bitch and moan and say yes, that the maid who kidnapped him, who would have also been eaten, should have lived for a few minutes more at the cost of his life?"

Gwydion's answer, of course, had been no.

Medusa had taken the dragon carcass and had it properly butchered, and had sold some parts to foreign magic users, but had kept back a lot for them to use in the future. She had said that when Gwydion was a little older and no longer growing, she would get some dragon armour made. Gwydion wasn't sure he wanted to wear the bright green scale, but kept quiet for now.

Everything was perfect, and he couldn't help but smile as the sun rose, and with a loud CRACK he disappeared to Daventry. So when, greeting Graham and Valanice, as he arrived for his lessons, it was a great surprise Graham went suddenly pale, his breathing becoming laboured, and he clutched his chest in pain.

"Help me," he rasped to his wife. She quickly screamed for the guards, who ran over and helped him up and into the castle. Graham's favourite hat, from his adventurer days, laid in the dirt of the courtyard, forgotten. The servants rushed to his aid, hustling him off to bed and calling for a doctor. Gwydion followed quietly unable to stand by and simply watch, and was swept up in the doctors wake and into the royal bedchamber. King Graham lay weakly in bed, and Gwydion imaged he could almost see Father Death hovering near. Gwydion listened as the doctor sadly explained that the King's heart was failing, and magic could only give him a few days at most. "Oh, Graham!" Gwydion felt like sobbing. While Medusa, Letholdus and Manannan were his family, he had come to love in his own way the royal family of Daventry, for they had shown him nothing but kindness. "You're still young; you should have many years ahead of you! Oh, I wish I could help you!" Gwydion couldn't help but feel a deep well of grief, so much so he ran blindly from the from the room.

Unable to keep from crying, he fell down on the steps in the throne room, trying to muffle his voice against his knees. "I wish I could do something!"

"Do you really mean that?" A voiced asked softy.

Gwydion looked up but saw no one. "Who's speaking to me?"

Just then the mirror, the magic mirror, glinted on the wall "I am, look in the mirror."

Gwydion looked in its depths and saw an image, a beautiful blonde women in a long white robe fluttered on butterfly wings. A fairy!

"Wh-who are you?" Gwydion queried.

"I am the fairy, Genesta. In my land of Tamir there is a remarkable tree. This tiny tree needs one hundred years to bear a single fruit. But, this is no ordinary fruit; for if a person were to eat it, one would find that good health and well-being would be theirs for many years."

Gwydion felt a swell of hope at that news."Where is the land of Tamir?"

Genesta smiled. "Tamir is very far away. But with my magic, I can bring you here. However, once I bring you here, I can't send you back; you will have to help me first."

Gwydion knew that there was more to the story. Of course, magic offers always have a price. "But, I suppose there are some problems?"

Again, Genesta smiled. "Yes, you are correct, Gwydion. If you are willing to come to Tamir I will explain the situation."

Confused, Gwydion said, "What if I can't help you or find the tree? How will I get back then?"

Genesta pleaded, "You must decide NOW, Gwydion. My powers are growing weaker by the minute." By now, the fairy was but a faint glimmer, and her voice barely audible. "If you care for King Graham, say 'yes' now!..." And as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone.

Gwydion, desperate, screamed, "Yes!" before feeling the telltale hooking sensation in his stomach of magical travel. The comforting weight of the belt around his waist reminded him he wasn't as powerless as many thought.

He _would_ save the King, he would not lose this gamble. No matter what.


	2. 6am-7am: Life's a Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwydion finds himself in Tamir. Now what?

Gwydion found himself on a shallow beach, looking up the gentle slop to a a meadow full of emerald green grass and wild flowers. The sound of fluttering caused him to turn and see the fairy he had spoken to flying towards him, over the surf. She was just as beautiful in person, with long flowing gold hair woven with bright flowers, large green eyes, and soft shapely lips. Her dress was a light floaty white fabric he thought had to been fairy spun silk. In one hand she carried a wand with a glittering star on the end. Despite how silly it should have looked, the feeling of power which flowed from it made it look almost deadly. Flying with the human sized fairy were two tiny ones, one dressed in red, one in blue. These fairies, Gwydion knew from his studies, were more normal sized. Only the oldest, most powerful fairies ever grew larger then his palm, vaguely like a tree’s continued growth compared to a flower’s short bright life. 

The large fairy landed on the beach in front of Gwydion and spoke. "I am the fairy, Genesta, ruler of this land. Welcome to Tamir!" 

Gwydion looked slightly suspicious at the the fairy. She really was stunningly beautiful, almost too much. Medusa had taught him that some races could enchant the senses, so he would not be able to see what they really looked like, or would feel things about their appearance, be it attraction or fear, that they wanted him to feel. But a certain sadness around her made Gwydion think that she wasn’t trying to trick him. Realising he was meant to say something, “I know you would like me to help you in some way, but I don't know how I could help such a powerful fairy." 

Genesta looked even sadder. "You're wrong, Gwydion. You see, I'm losing my magical powers. Yesterday as I was strolling through the woods, Lolotte, the evil fairy, caught me unawares and stole my magic talisman." The fairy sighed, "She yanked it from my neck and raced away screeching with laughter. Immediately I felt my powers diminishing and my body weakening. I will die in 24 hours if my talisman is not returned. Further, I can not send you home without my talisman." Intently, Genesta looked at Gwydion. "Lolotte is very evil and will use the talisman to bring more evil to Tamir. Now I fear it will contaminate my whole country!" 

Gwydion was still unsure what Genesta wanted him to do. Meekly, he asked, "I want to help you, but how?" He thought of his potion belt. He only had a poison cure, a minor cut balm, a tiny amount of flying potion, some shrinking solution which he had altered to last an hour per drop, a fresh pot of sleeping powder and the stasis jar with the spider he had taken to carrying when he found Manannan batting it around when he had returned one day. He couldn't release the spider, as it would immediate grow in size again. After the first hunk of pork it hadn't even need to be feed again. He didn't have any of his other potions on him. He hadn't thought he would need his normal arsenal for a trip to Daventry. He only had the sleep and shrinking potions because he had wanted to show his teachers how he had improved the recipes. 

“You can do more than you think, Gwydion,” Genesta assured him. "I believe you will be able to penetrate Lolotte's domain. Lolotte's castle overlooks Tamir from the great mountains." 

_Why do bad guys alway live on the top of mountains?_ Gwydion thought. “Wait, you want me to deal with Lolotte?”

“You are a great wizard! I’m sure you will be able to return my talisman.”

Suddenly, Gwydion remembered the tiny tree, the one which would save Graham. "Can you tell me where to find the magic fruit?" 

Remorsefully, Genesta looked at Gwydion. "It will not be easy to reach the tree. It grows on a tiny island within a vast swamp on the other side of the great mountains." 

The great mountain, which of course, Lolotte lived at the top of. Gwydion remembered, long ago, Medusa’s voice, _‘It is not the place of children to deal with evil wizards.’_ But he was more powerful now, wasn’t he? And it wasn’t like he had a choice, if he wanted to go home. “I will help you in any way I can, Genesta. How can I defeat Lolotte?" 

Genesta looked weaker as she said, "There is not much more I can do, Gwydion. As it is, it will be difficult for me to fly home again. One thing I must do for you, though. I shall disguise you as a peasant so as not to attract attention." 

And before he could protest, Gwydion’s clothes changed into a brown long skirt and purple vest over a white blouse. Thankfully, his potion belt remained in place. “Genesta these are girls clothes!”

“You don’t like them? I’m sorry if they aren’t your colour, but sadly I don’t have the magic to change them again.”

“The colour isn’t the problem.” Gwydion muttered angrily, “Next time maybe ask first.” 

"It will be better for you, no one will know who you are,“ the fairy said pompously. "Well, I must be off while I can still fly. I KNOW you can do it! Good bye, good luck." And, without hearing another word from Gwydion, Genesta turned and fluttered back out to sea.

 _Well, you're on your own now, Gwydion._ He thought to himself. He didn’t want to start towards Lolotte, not while he had no idea what kind of power she had. What he needed was information. It annoyed him more then slightly that Genesta had just dumped him here and left. He decided to walk along the beach, looking for a town or Port. Surly there and to be one around here somewhere. 

After about 30 minutes walking along with the the featureless beach on his left and the what he was starting to think of as an endless meadow to his right, he heard the sound of music carried on the wind. Looking inland he could just make a man sitting on a large tree stump, surrounded by blooming wild pansy. Making his way to the jaunty-looking musician, he tried to gauge how dangerous he could be. With his puffy sleeves, much too tight leggings and long hair, he looked more like a flop then a thug. His off key singing and poorly strummed lute playing didn’t help his image. 

Gwydion greeted the minstrel who looked at up in surprise. "Well, well. Who do we have here?" he asked.

Gwydion almost introduced himself by name, but realised that if he was meant to be a girl, he might as well actually try. Getting caught would be worse then just going along with it. So Gwydion introduced himself as Rosella, the name of the Daventry princess, the only young girl he really knew. 

"Hello, Rosella," the minstrel said. “Let me play for you one of my favourite tunes," as he began to play an old ballad. Unfortunately, it appeared that his musical skills were quite limited, as he plunked and pinged his way through an otherwise beautiful song.

As the minstrel finished he looked to Gwydion, as if expecting praise. Unsure what to say he settled on, “That was certainly memorable.” 

Medusa would be so proud of how far his diplomacy had come. 

The minstrel seemed quite pleased that Gwydion appreciated his music so much. He obviously loved the attention as starts to strum another out-of-tune song. Before he can open his mouth Gwydion interrupts. 

“I’m sorry, but I was looking for the town. You don’t know where it is do you?”

Slightly put out by not being able to play, the minstrel looks a little bemused at Gwydion, “There’s no town around here. The closest human settlement is Aberdyfi, but that is a good moon’s travel away to the south.”

Gwydion’s voice was distinctly flat when he questioned, “What.”

“Yes the wild magic of the Fae doesn’t allow human settlements. The old Prince learned that the hard way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you don’t know the tale? Well let me enlighten you!” And with that the minstrel put down the lute to one side and jumped up on the stump excited. He clearly was enjoying himself, much more then when he had sung. “About 30 years ago, Prince Casimir was the third son of the King of Reynes. As his father aged and started to plan his succession Casimir realised that he would never inherit the throne, despite believing he was the greatest son, and decided to make his own kingdom to rule. So he set out to find an area where no human claimed. Eventually he came here, and looked upon the Great Mountains and thought it was fit for a King of his standing. He looked upon the fields of flowers and thought of great farms. He looked upon the sea and saw trade routes to all of Sierra. This land, he decided, would be his. 

So he went home a bought many slaves. He returned an ordered them to build a castle on the highest peak. The Fae of the mountains, the stone skinned pixies protested, ‘The Great Mountain is sacred! You can not build here!’ But the Prince ignored them.

He set the slaves to make farms, plowing the fields and cutting down trees, and the Fae of the fields, the colourful winged fairies protested, ‘The fields are our homes, you can not plow them! The trees are our lives, you can not cut them down!’ But the Prince ignored them.

Finally, the Prince set the slaves to build a dock, cutting through the offshore reefs, and the Fae of the sea, the nereid with their melodious voices sang protests, ‘The sea is wild, it can not be tamed! You have angered Fae of the air, of the land and now of the sea. You will find no joy in these lands. Magic turns against you.’

But the Prince just laughed, ‘What do I have to fear from pixies, fairies and nereid? Bugs beneath my might as King!’

But his slaves heard and feared, and under cover of night tried to escape, for they were not a Prince to laugh in the face of magic. They who had split stone, and field and reef. When the Prince awoke to only a handful of slaves who had been locked in the castle, he raged and demanded they swear to never leave. And fearing their lives they did. But that meant there was none to work the field, none to crew the boats. And the Prince strode out into the field and raged, ‘Return my property! Return my slaves!’

But the Fae said nothing.

The Prince raged and cursed at the land. In his anger he gathered up the Fae and started to destroy them. He pulled the wings off fairies and pixies, the fins off nereid. And Magic seeing her children in pain and dying, surged forth, and in retuned rage, and the Prince was surround by a blinding light, and in an instance was gone, never to be heard from again.”

Gwydion was sitting on the ground, totally enthralled by the storytelling. “Wow! If you don’t mind me saying, you are much better at story telling then music.”

The minstrel beamed then slumped, “I know. But I know so few tales, and there are none around here to tell me more. Pan at least will play new songs I can learn. How can I be a storyteller without tales to tell?”

Gwydion nodded in understanding. “So no one knows what happened to the Prince?”

“No. Not even his slaves, who were stuck in the castle. The sad thing is they had hardly a moment of peace before Lolotte came and claimed the castle for herself. As she is part or full Fae herself, the curse of the land can not touch her. The slaves she twisted into monsters, the forest has grown dark under her influence, and evil spirits roam freely at night. But Genesta, that’s the Fairy Queen around here, does nothing.”

“Why doesn’t she?”

“She claims that there is nothing wrong. That Lolotte wouldn’t dare go against the magic of the land. That’s all well and good for her to say, living out on her island, away from all of this.”

Gwydion thought about his interactions with the Fairy Queen. She didn’t seem malicious, more ignorant. But could it have all been an act?

“Hey, Lass.” The Minstrel glanced around nervously, “You are a good girl. You should go to the dwarves and ask about the ‘housekeeping job.’”

Gwydion looked at him as if he was crazy. It was clear that ‘housekeeping job’ didn’t actually mean ‘housekeeping job’. He could almost see the quotes around the words. “Why?”

“If anyone without a job or a reason to be here is found by Lolotte they end up in the dungeons. Just be careful, OK?”

Oh, that did make sense he guessed. Feeling slightly less suspicious Gwydion smiled and said, “Where can I find the dwarves?”

“Go east to the pond, then head south until you find the stone bridge. From there, you should be able to see the dwarves house.”

“Thank you.” And with a nod, Gwydion started to walk. Behind him, he heard the minstrel start to strum again. Just before he was out of the sight the minstrel called after him, “And if you see Pan, don’t run, but walk away as fast as you can!”

 _Because that isn’t worrying at all._ Gwydion thought sarcastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided, after much thought, to split this story into hour breaks, sort of as a continuation of the day chapters of TFID and also as it would help pace the story. Hope you like it!  
> My map of Tamir has the row with the minstrel and dwarves house as the top, which means the fisherman’s cottage and dark forest is the southern most point. This also puts the witches cave directly south of Lolotte’s path. Obviously it is no longer a closed loop, but lets just say Harry has no reason to walk further afield.


	3. 7am-8am: Cross that Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwydion heads to the Dwarves house.

The little pond was actually quiet lovely. A clump of stately birch sat at the northern edge, while tumbling mounds of red flowering basil, bluebells and delicate purple violets bordered the southern, perfuming the air. Numerous water lilies floated serenely upon the lovely little pond nestled in thick woods. Atop one of the bigger lily pads, Gwydion noticed a rather large frog, which Gwydion could swear was wearing a little gold crown. The large frog stared back at Gwydion with big bulging eyes.

“Ribbit! Ribbit!" The frog croaked. 

Gwydion blinked in bemusement. It had been a long time since an animal had made actual animal sounds and not words at him. 

“That’s a nice little gold crown." He tried. 

The frog gave him one disparaging look and with a loud PLOP, jumped in to the water, hidden by the lily pads. Shaking his head, Gwydion continued south through the fields of calf high grass and wild flowers. Occasionally he stumbled through patch of wild thyme, and the scent seemed to follow him, clinging to his long skirt. About 20 minutes later he came to the bridge spanning a softly tumbling stream. Next to the old stone bridge a large graceful willow stood guard. It was a little too peaceful to Gwydion’s mind. 

Suddenly he remember a conversation he had with Medusa only weeks ago. They had been trying to decide whether to build a bridge over the river, now it was too deep to wade across. Medusa had immediately ruled out building in stone. When Gwydion had asked why, she had explained that stone bridges almost always attached feral trolls, trolls who had been banished for terrible crimes. In other words, exactly the kind of beings you don’t want in your kingdom. The troll would hide under the stone bridge, as close as they could get to their natural home under mountains of stone. But because they also could get food in a normal manner, they also tended to eat anyone who tried to cross over the bridge. 

Slowly, Gwydion crept forward and around, close enough to stand on the bank and look into the shadows under bridge, but far enough that he could run if needed. From the side he could see the bridge was actually very low, with _probably_ not enough room to fit a troll. There was nothing moving in the deep shadows of the bridge, and Gwydion felt confident enough to think that there wasn’t a troll hiding there. He started to walk back up the bank to cross the bridge but the sparkle of gold caught his eye. Moving forward he saw there was a small golden ball in the shadowed bank. Shrugging, he picked up the surprisingly heavy ball and dropped it into one the four empty pouches on his belt. 

After crossing the bridge he looked upstream to see a house set into the roots of a giant old oak. A water wheel spun lazily on the river, while another fork of the river snaked into a shallow stream in fount of the house. A brick chimney peaked through the tree, sending gentle smoke upwards. The house itself, what wasn’t tree, was a light baby blue weather board, with a cheery red door. Gwydion couldn’t be sure if the tree had existed first, or the house, they were so intertwined. Carefully, he waded across the shallow fork, holding his skirt out of the clear cold water. Thankfully Genesta magic hadn’t extended to change his good solid letter boots. The door he approached was his height, only 3 feet high. He knocked on the door, expecting with the smoke coming from the chimney, someone to be home.

In the distance birds sang, “Hey, hey, hey, mine, mine, mine.”

No one answered the door.

Gwydion tried knocking again. 

The stream bubbled happily behind him.

Frowning, Gwydion tried a third time, much harder. To his surprise, the door sprung open. Gwydion edged into the house.

Gwydion first thought was, _My goodness, these dwarfs are sloppy!_

The main room of the dwarfs' cozy tree house was spacious, but filled with junk and rubbish. A long wooden table dominated the room, and was covered in empty bowls, dirty plates, used cutlery. The table of itself was grimy and even from the doorway looked sticky. The rest of the room was a long kitchen, with counter top piled high with dirty dishes. Gwydion could see green goo growing on the porcelain. Even the clock had seen better days, the mechanism was open and extended, but the cuckoo had flown away. The walls themselves were a dull depressing grey, and the roots of dark wood from the tree poking through didn’t help the gloom. The only spot of colour was a cheery fire heated a a bubbling pot of soup in the red brick fireplace. The soup bubbled to the beat of the fire.

Narrow stairs led upwards. Gwydion frowned. Surely someone was home if the soup was on? Should he venture inside and check upstairs? As if to agree a strong breeze slammed the door closed behind him. 

Mind made up, Gwydion ventured upstairs. The narrow stairs creaked loudly under his tiny weight. Up stairs he entered the bedroom. Here the roof sloped sharply, low under the roots of the tree. The same dull grey walls filled the spaces between the wooden roots. There were seven little messy unmade beds lining the walls, four in bunks of two, three alone. The heavy purple blankets were piled at the foot, the white sheets askew. The window was the only clean spot, letting in bright sunlight and overlooking the forest. All the rooms occupants shared a single chest of drawers, which was over flowing, the clothes jamming the draws open. A nice braided rug of navy blue lay on the floor, but was twisted and out of line. A mirror hung against one wall, and Gwydion saw the reflection of a poor, but beautiful, peasant girl. Genesta had really gone all out with the magic. Behind him the larger bed to the right at the front of the room looked like it might be fun to jump on. Unable to help himself, Gwydion climbed on top and jumped up and down experimentally, ”Wheeee!!!”

It was almost as good as flying. 

The third jump however, he landed slightly off, and tumbled onto the floor. He huffed a laugh, which only stirred the dust on the floor, making him sneeze and his eyes water. 

Well, if he was going to pretend to be a house keeper he should at least have a clean house. With that in mind Gwydion straighten the beds, picked up the dirty clothes and folded them on the foot of the largest bed. He straighten the rug. Downstairs, he found a broom in the cupboard and a pan to sweep everything into. It took three trips to clean the upstairs, empty the dust into to garden outside. Downstairs he filled the sink and scrubbed the mass of dishes clean. He wiped down the table and swept the floor. He then check the soup, which he found was terribly bland. Hunting in the cupboards he found a small pot of salt. After seasoning the soup it was better, but nothing compared to back home. 

Just as he was about to hunt down more spice, Gwydion heard the dwarves approaching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the two week gap, it was honors submission time. There's nothing like seeing a 23 year old young man, who hasn't slept or gone home for 3 days, sobbing on the floor when you arrive at work at 7am because there was a paper jam an hour ago and he can't find where it is.  
> Cue me stepping over the poor boy and cackling evilly. I did help him, eventually. After coffee.


	4. 8am-9am: Off to work they go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwydion meets the Dwarves.

“Hello,” Gwydion started, but a single grunt and raised hand from the leading dwarf stopped him. The dwarves were just as he had imaged from his lessons with his tutors, short and stout, with thick fizzy beards. The leader’s hair had gone snow white with age, but the others all had shades of black and brown. They eyes and nose formed a stark band of hairlessness. On their heads they wore soft caps of bright colours. 

The dwarfs marched into the room one at a time, and didn’t even spare Gwydion a glance, but went straight to the pot of soup. Each collected a bowl and filled it before grunting and sitting down at the long table. Once all seven had sat down, one finally acknowledged his presence. “Well lass, I see you cleaned. In rewards, please take a bowl of soup.”

Gwydion did so, and sat at one end of the table. None of the dwarves had started to eat yet, and Gwydion wondered what they were waiting for.

“You first, lass.” The leading dwarf said. “A nice big spoon full.”

“Right,” Gwydion said. He scooped the bland soup and chewed the large lumps before swallowing. Suddenly all the dwarves relaxed, and Gwydion realised how tense they had been. He also realised that they must had thought he had poisoned the meal. He wanted to point out he still might have, Letholdus had shown him many ways to avoid the effects of poison, while appearing to or actually still consuming it. 

All started to eat, but continued to eye Gwydion wearily. 

“I’m sorry I just entered your house. The minstrel said I should ask you about a housekeeping job, and well when I got here it wasn’t very clean.”

The lead dwarf looked a bit stunned, “You thought it was a real job?”

“Well sort of? The minstrel made it sound like it meant something more, but well, it really looks like you need one.”

“What’s your name lass?”

“Rosella.”

“Not from a round here are you?”

“No, I’m from Llewdor.”

“Mmmm,” The dwarf seemed to think for a moment, “Never heard of it.”

By this stage the dwarves were noisily slurping the bowls of soup. Gwydion still thought it was bit bland himself, but they seemed to be enjoying it immensely. A few even finished and went and got seconds. 

“How did you get here lass?”

As Gwydion didn’t want to get into specifics, he told them "by sea.”

“And what are you doing here?” The dwarf seemed friendly, but something lurked in his eyes which made Gwydion weary. But dwarves were normally good folk, and didn’t strike Gwydion as the kind who would be in league with Lolotte. The question was if they would sell him out anyway.

“I came seeking a magic fruit, but found it grows in the shadow of Lolotte’s castle.”

At Lolotte’s name there was a harsh indrawn breath around the table. “And so now what?”

“I still need the fruit. No matter what. I had hoped Genesta would help, but she has lost her power, and sickens quickly. Now I’m not sure what to do.”

“Genesta’s sick?”

“Yes. Lolotte stole a magic pendent of hers. Genesta says she only has a day left.”

The was a long pause. The dwarves looked grim, but not upset. Gwydion had the feeling that they, like the minstrel, weren’t exactly fans of Genesta. 

“The house keeping job is code.” The leader dwarf said. “It means that we should offer you a chance to escape this forsaken land via our tunnels. We toil here not by choice, but this is the only land rich in Tamirite. In case of emergency we dug a tunnel south under the mountains. It emerges within a ten days hike to Slaithwaite.”

“I can’t. I need the magic fruit.”

“I understand lass. I can see the fire in your eyes.”

There was a pause while everyone continued to eat. Gwydion considered everything he had heard. Finding the silence slightly oppressive he asked, “What is so special about Tamirite?”

“Ahhh, lass,” The dwarf opened a pouch one his belt and brought out a small deep green gem. Then with a smile he turned it to catch the sunlight from the recently cleaned window. The colour simmered and darkened into a rich purple. He then turned it so the light from the fire shone strongly on the stone, and the purple changed into a blood red. Bringing it back into the relative dim shadow cast by his body the stone was once again green. “This is Tamirite. Depending on the light that shines on it, its colour changes. Highly desired for jewellery, its real values lies in magic. To us dwarves it is a gift from the gods.”

“Wow.” Gwydion breathed. His fingers itched to touch the stone, and he bite his cheek to stop himself. 

“As long as we keep to our mines Lolotte doesn’t bother us, but we are not blind to her evil. Things stir in the shadows, and we have had more cave ins in the last decade then all the years before combined. But we can not leave, not while the stone calls to us.”

Some of the dwarves had stood, clearly readying to leave again. 

“We must get back to the mines. If you need us the mines lie south of here. Good-bye, and good luck on your quest.”

One of the other dwarves called out, “and thanks for the soup!” as they marched out again. Gwydion sighed, and cleaned the bowls. As he cleared the table he noticed the pouch of the Tamirite the old dwarf had forgotten. Opening it he saw three small Tamirites, smaller then his finger nail. Shaking his head at obsessive dwarves, Gwydion gathered the pouch up and went to find the mine.

To the south of the dwarves house the forested thickened. Almost perfectly cone-shaped bright green spruce and fir were occasionally interspaced with the smooth grey bark round shaped alder, the towering trunks of black and white striped aspens and hawthorns bearing bright red fruit. Gwydion picked a few of the ripest pome off, avoiding the long wicked needles and chewed the sweet juicy flesh, spiting out the seeds as he traveled. It was much nicer then the soup which had made up breakfast. He slipped a few in one pouch of his belt. He had found that he could put as many of the same item in one pouch and still have the enchantment work. He was also pleasantly surprised to find a large overgrown blackberry vine. He picked a few of the closest berries, which he ate all of straight away, but wasn’t willing to brave the thorns for more. Soon he emerged from he tree line to see the rocky outcrop, which had a ramshackle open plank door set in. Gwydion moved easily into the darkened opening.

Stones glittered and sparkled from the earthen walls of the Seven Dwarfs' mine. Within it, Gwydion could see the little men busily at work. Seeing a dwarf who appeared to be idling by a bucket filled with uncut clear stones, Gwydion attempted to ask for directions to the leader dwarf. But as he didn’t actually know a name he just asked for who was in charge. In reply the dwarf only muttered under his breath in perturbation. He peered up at Gwydion with mild agitation. "This ain't no place for a lady, Rosella!" he firmly stated. "I don't wanna see you get hurt in here!" 

“I’ll stay out of the way, but I really need to talk to the leader.”

His gruff exterior softened a bit. “Fine, but be careful. He is down there, closing off one of the old tunnels.” The dwarf pointed to one of the openings. “Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.”

Gwydion made his way down into the mine. The dwarfs came in and out of the multiple doorways. Each must lead to a different part of the mine. It would be very easy to get lost down here. As soon as he entered the indicated doorway the leader dwarf shouted up at him, “Rosella, what are you doing here? Give up already?”

The leader was standing to one side, supervising another dwarf nailed a set of wooden beams across a tunnel opening. On each was a set of runes in thick black paint. 

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=swz7ky)

**  
**

Gwydion’s curiosity got the better of him and he indicated the boards and asked, “No, I haven’t given up. What does that mean?” 

“Tis a warning. The first half says death, the second that the tunnel is unstable. We’ve mined out the section, and its more trouble then worth to shore up the walls even more.”

“Oh. You left this pouch behind. I thought I should return it.”

”Nah, you can keep it as payment for cleaning, Rosella," he said, smiling. “They are just the small off cuts I kept to practice my shaping. We also got an extra lantern we ain't using. Here, go ahead and take it. If you’re lost, you should talk to the fisherman to the south of here. He has been here for decades, and may know where to find your magical fruit.” The dwarf's gruffness returned as he said, "Now, skedaddle on out of here!" 

Doing just that, Gwydion made his way back to the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, testing out embedding pictures. I'm not sure how many pictures I will have (or if there will be any more), but I wanted to start with something a little less needed.
> 
> Tamirite is vaguely based on Alexandrite, but of course has a further colour change. You can eat hawthorn pome (or berries, as they are mistakenly called), but the seeds are poison, and shouldn’t be eaten, especially by children. 
> 
> So I had some comments about the fact Gwydion actually is a girl.... I wanted to explain why.
> 
> As I was sticking close to the games, Edgar had to fall in love with Harry, both so Lolotte wouldn't kill him straight away, and Edgar would help at the end. So I had to chose if I made Edgar gay, or changed either Edgar of Harry's gender. In the end I changed Harry's, because a number of other interactions would have been very different if he appeared a boy instead of a girl. I wrote about 50% of the story before I realized that Harry is 8 years old... having Edgar fall in love would be a little creepy and wrong. But by then I liked how we see Harry interact with people who think he is a girl, so I kept the gender the same and changed the back half of the story instead. I have to say, I think this story will be the start of a more AU to both the games and Harry Potter, as questioning the second half of the game meant I ended up questioning a lot of my later plans as well. What I don't want is a story where no matter what happens everything is exactly the same.


	5. 9am-10am: Don't rock the boat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwydion goes fishing for answers.

Gwydion stood for a moment and let his eyes adjust to the bright light. He shoved the lantern in a belt pouch and tied the blue dwarf pouch with the stones to his belt. A fisherman implied close to the sea, so he wandered that way first. Coming to the beach, he recognised the same curve of beach as where he had arrived at. Looking south he couldn’t see any cottage, but started walking that way. After about 20 minutes, a grey wooden building appeared on the horizon, sitting in front of a similarly grey pier. The building was quiet large, solid and imposing, but seemed to sit comfortably in the land. Red poppies decorated the base, matching a bright red metal chimney. A stone wall lay half in and half of the field, broken down and being reclaimed by the sand and scrub. A few seagulls stood sentinel over a lone fisherman perched on the end of the pier, his fishing rod dangling down into the surf. 

“Hello!” Gwydion greeted.

The old man, and he was really old, bent with age and hair bleached by the sun turned to look at Gwydion. He regarded the small peasant girl. “Hello there lass. What can I do for you this fine morning?”

“I was hoping I could ask you some questions, namely about a magic fruit which can heal any ills.”

“Oh, aye, I know of it. What did you want to know?”

“Did you know where I could find it?”

“No, only somewhere near the mountains.”

“Oh.” Gwydion looked at the small boat tied to the pier. “You wouldn’t be able to give me a ride to Genesta’s island, would you?”

“Why would you want to go there? Genesta doesn’t talk to anyone but the fairies that live on her island.”

“I think she might know where to find the fruit.”

“Mmm. I could, I suppose. Not like the fish are biting here. Do you have something to pay?”

“How much?”

“Gold isn’t much use around here, no one to buy anything from or sell anything to.”

“Well want do you want then?”

“Oh ho, isn’t that a tricky question. Something other then fish to eat, maybe. Or a new set of boots. I would love to have a stone worthy enough to give to my girl. Were have been together for almost 40 years now, but I have never been able to give her the ring she deserved when we got married.”

Gwydion smiled, he couldn’t get something other then fish, and didn’t want to give up his boots, but he still had something to trade. “I think I have just the thing!” 

From out of the pouch tied to his belt Gwydion fished out the largest Tamirite, about the size of a pea. Its flawless cut face glittered deep purple in the strong sunlight. It was a very beautiful rock and Gwydion could almost feel the humming buzzing magic held within.

The old man’s gasp was loud enough to be heard over the gentle surf below. “For that lass, I would teach you to use this boat and it could be yours.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. I’m too old to be out on the cold sea alone. The wind can cut to the bone.”

Gwydion beamed at the old man, “We have a deal then!”

The fisherman smiled back, taking the stone and tucking it tightly in one of his many pockets.

“Alright lass, hop in and you’ll learn as we go.”

The trip to the island actually didn’t take that long. The tiny sail boat was very fast with the wind behind it, almost flying above the waves rather then cutting through them. The fisherman, whose name was Danny, talked only when necessary from where he stood at the tiller, leaning back so far as he might fall. Danny was mostly concentrating on the wind while directing Gwydion and telling him what was what. A few times he had to shout at Gwydion to duck under the swinging arm of the sail, called a beam, or sometimes boom, which Gwydion though very appropriate considering the noise it made as it snapped in place. Gwydion thought it was fun and made game of it, ducking under the swing at the last moment. The boat had a centerboard, which Danny explained could be lifted, with the rudder, when close to shore so you didn’t have to anchor far away and swim in. He also showed Gwydion how the mainsheet worked, where if the line was let loose the boom and sail could swing farther out from the boat’s middle. The trick was to keep the sail straining against the wind, while having it maximally full. The mainsheet had a complex set of block and tackle to allow it to be pulled easily, even when the wind was strong. 

Gwydion had almost forgotten the purpose of his trip when the island appeared on the horizon. Gwydion was slightly stunned by its almost gaudy nature. The white marble castle sat in the middle, with five tall towers, and two wings. The sun shining off the stone was almost painfully bright. Gwydion couldn’t really understand why such tiny people need so much space. Unless there was thousands of fairies living here, it seemed terribly wasteful and ostentatious. It was even bigger then the Daventry castle, and that housed the entire constabulary, large part of the army, the royal family and numerous lord and ladies. 

Around the castle was a large garden. Constrained and directed, the garden was lush but highly symmetrical. Between the formal flower beds, thick well-tended but manicured green grass carpeted the magical island, surrounded by low hedges. Seagulls soared and darted in the beautiful blue sky, and on the beach he could see a lone peacock pecking randomly. 

After getting close, the fisherman jumped out, and with Gwydions help lifting the rudder and centreboard, pulled the small boat up the beach. He then sat down and waved Gwydion ahead. “I’ll just rest here a moment.”

“If you’re sure.”

Gwydion made his way up the beach and into the garden. To his left was a small bridge, emblazoned with the figures of swans, arching over a mirror-like pond. A beautiful white swan floated serenely on it. A nice flagstone path circled the pond and continued around the back of the castle. A garden bench of stone had been placed to watch over the pond, but looked like it had never been used, the grass around still perfect and undisturbed. To his right the path continued in the same shape, but this times circled a statue depicting a pair of dolphins leaping gracefully from a wave. In front of him the the elegant palace door beckoned, flanked on both sides by lilac shrubs. 

Gwydion could feel himself being watched, and glanced up. Multiple fairies circled above him, but did not move to stop him when he pushed open the door.

Gwydion found himself in the entry hall of the enchanted ivory palace. An unusual vine clung to the back wall of the palace entry hall, hung with deep blue grape like fruits. Three doorways were placed on separate walls. They were human sized, and framed by deeply coloured almost purple carved wood. Two of the doors were closed, and presumably, off-limits to uninvited visitors. The left doorway, however, was open. 

Gwydion took the open doorway and traveled upwards. Large pots full of iris and orchids in full bloom sat on each landing. Fairies fluttered around the flowers. Halfway up a beautifully embroidered tapestry depicting a open field full of flowers and a beautiful unicorn hung on the gleaming wall. Opposite it a window showed an expansive view of the ocean and beach. Down below he could see the tiny figure of Danny reclining on the sand. 

At the top he found a bedroom. 

As Gwydion stepped into the room the first thing he noticed was the carpet. Since coming to Sierra he could not recall another single room which had carpet. Carpet, not rugs, not furs, but carpet. Wall to wall, woven pile of a deep blue. It was even thick enough that his boots sunk slightly when he stepped from the rug covered wooden floor of the steps. Not even the Daventry throne room had carpet, and people were kneeling on that all the time! Once he got over the shock of carpet he looked around the rest of the room. He guessed it could be called very beautiful and serene. It was a little too much for him, with its large seashell shaped bed, its ornate twin cupboards, it massive vases overflowing with what he recognised as white poppies. He could still recall Vernon yelling about how the hippies were destroying the good folk by wearing white instead of red poppies to remember the war. Most of Vernon’s rants didn’t make a lot of sense if you actually listened to them, but Gwydion had been interested because he had never heard of a white poppy before, and couldn’t remember seeing it in Petunia’s old magazines.

He wondered why the poppies where here, instead of the brighter, rarer orchids. He moved to Genesta side, and caught a breath of perfume from the flowers. An instant later he felt his whole body relax, his head felt lighter and his body vaguely felt the same way as when he drunk the flying potion. A smile came to his face without his conscious thought.

He guessed that was why the poppies were here. He could imagine that if he was sick these poppies would make him feel better too.

Genesta, herself, lay very still upon the seashell bed; her concerned fairy helpers hovering near. She looked very ill. It was clear the fairy was visibly fading...fast. Gwydion could clearly see if she didn’t get her magic talisman back soon, she would be dead. Gwydion attempted to speak to her, despite her small fairy helpers fluttering madly about, trying to prevent him from disturbing her.

“Genesta, I need help. I have no idea what to do.”

To Gwydion’s surprise, considering her state, Genesta muttered, “Earn trust….”

“I should earn trust? Whose trust? How?”

“Trusted…”

“Who?” By this stage the helpers buzzed at Gwydion dangerously. The few words had clearly taken their toll. The diary queen’s parched lips looked cracked and bloody. Deep bruised bags darken her face. Her breath was a rattle.

“How can I get to the fruit?” But Genesta had fallen back into sleep. Frustrated, Gwydion turned and left. Why couldn’t she have helped more when she had brought him here? Or at least given him some idea about what to do.

Danny didn’t seem at all surprised by the look of frustration on Gwydion’s face when he return to the beach. “Went well, did it?”

Gwydion huffed in frustration. 

“Well hop back in. I’ll show you something to pick up your spirits.”

Together, they sailed northeast, tacking against the wind. Halfway back a small island rose from the surrounding surf. He could see rotting shards of a ship’s wreckage dotting the sea and beach of the island. Two entwined palm trees stood lone guard. It was desolate and had the feeling of a graveyard, reverence and old history.

Danny waved Gwydion into shore. The boy held his skirt and waded up the tiny sand island. The island was part of a long submerged reef, the reason so many ships had wrecked upon the shore. Gwydion climbed over the wooden bottom of a broken ship, looking like a giant set of ribs from a forgotten behemoth. The other half of the island was taken up by the prowl of the boat. Gwydion climbed around so he was standing in its hollow. His foot slipped, and when he looked down to navigate out, and saw something wooden buried in the sand. Leaning down, he dug with his hands, unearthing a locked chest. It was cracked and old, and at one stage may have been beautiful. There was worn carvings decorating its lid and sides, which Gwydion thought might be horses, but looked more like blobs now.

Gwydion tried opening the chest. The lock, rusted and having sat too long in the sand, was brittle but held. The rest of the lid however, gave after solid tug, the wood splintering in Gwydion’s hands. Inside was very little. 

A pile of rotten rags may at one stage have been clothes, a few bits of brittle leather may have been boots or a belt. Piles of soggy white pulp may have once been books. The only thing not rotten or tarnished by time and sea water was a complex set of golden ropes. The long leads were twisted against each other and he couldn’t tell what it was meant to be. Shrugging, Gwydion tied them to his belt. Maybe if he got bored he could untangle them and figure it out later. Turning, he waded through the water back to the little boat and Danny. He did feel a little better, and told a genteelly smiling Danny just that as they made their way back to the mainland.


	6. 10-11am: Still waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwydion gets a possible direction, but first he has to get there.

Arriving back at the pier Danny pronounced Gwydion competent enough not to kill himself. It wasn’t exactly a glowing recommendation, but Gwydion still felt the pleasant flutter in his heart at the praise. 

“Just do me a favour lass, see if I’m around the next time too. Just until you are a little more confident.”

“Thank you Danny. And congratulations on marring your wife!”

Danny laughed and helped him out of the boat and onto the pier, briefly showing him how to tie off. 

“Lass, I don’t know what you wanted to talk to Genesta about, but you could try the witches.”

“Witches?”

“Yes, three witches live in a skull cave at the mountain base almost directly east of here. Go east until the edge of the forest. From there head north until you get to the temple pool. From there head east until the mountain base.”

“Will they be able to help me?”

“Able? Yes. Willing? Maybe not. They are witches.”

“At this stage I have no other options.”

Danny smiled and ruffed Gwydion’s hair. “Just be careful. I’m looking forward to more company while sailing. The wife is afraid of deep water. It’s why we never left these lands, even when everyone else did.”

Gwydion nodded and hurried off. It was almost lunch and he still had no idea where the fruit was or how to get Genesta’s talisman back.

Gwydion traveled for maybe 20 minutes before he came across the temple pool. It was beautiful. It had eight elegant marble columns, rising from moss covered pavings. In the center was a long rectangular pool, perhaps only 2 feet deep, but the water looked so cool and inviting; Gwydion was almost tempted to jump in and swim around. Gwydion wondered how the water remained so clear, not a single leaf or stick disturbed the still water. Large oaks shaded the northern half. The air smelt of sweet lavender, which was growing beyond the stones. Gwydion took a moment, closing his eyes and resting in the shade, listening to the birds sing so distantly he couldn’t understand the words. 

Something fluttered close by. Expecting to see a bird, or maybe a fairy, Gwydion opened his eyes and was startled to see a small flying baby instead. The creature, which he recognised was a Cupid, was one of the few Old Ones Medusa had said would be welcome in Llewdor. Cupids were ancient, never aging, and had great power over emotion. No one knew where they came from, and they couldn’t reproduce, so their number never grew. Humans had hunted down the Cupids, killing them for their arrows which were imbued with the cupids life force, and could, depending on the will of the magic user, force any emotion on a target, be it love or hate. 

The cupid beat his little white feathered wings furiously as he moved through the air, but it was still clearly magic which kept him airborne. In his chubby hands, he carried a golden bow and across his back was a quiver of golden arrows. The cupid settled down next to the pool, before pulling off the quiver and placing the bow next to it on the ground. With a high, twinkling laugh, like tiny bells, the cupid started to splash in the pool. 

Gwydion’s soft gasp must have come as a shock to the little creature, as it yelped, spun around and made eye contact with Gwydion. There was a pause, and Gwydion opened his mouth to greet the Cupid, but the small being was faster, half leaping, half flying to the edge of the pool where the quiver and bow lay. 

“Wait!” Gwydion pleaded. “I don’t mean you any harm!”

The Cupid had managed to get to the edge of the pool, and was now clutching the bow in his hand. In his rush, the quiver had been knocked over, spilling arrows across the stone. The Cupid could simply grab the now half empty quiver, and fly away, but Gwydion knew they had some sort of close tie to their arrows. But gathering up the scattered arrows would take time, and perhaps more importantly, would mean trying it’s back to Gwydion. 

Gwydion held his arms up to the sides, palms facing to the away (and therefor not possibly targeting the Cupid with magic) in a traditional signal that he meant no harm. He could only hope the Cupid knew he was telling the truth, after all, if the books were right, the Cupid should be able to sense his emotions. 

“I truly mean you no harm.”

The Cupid looked glanced back, a quick look at the scattered arrows. Before returning fearfully to Gwydion.

“Do you want me to help you collect them? Or I could go? I just, well, Medusa, she told me that Cupids were one of the Old Ones, but that they were gone, and I never thought I would get to meet one!”

The Cupid seemed to relax at the name of Medusa, and its fingers stopped clutching the bow so tightly. “Medusa?”

“Yes! She is my friend! Do you know her?”

“She went missing 50 years ago.”

Gwydion nodded sadly, it still troubled him what had happened to his close friend, and the role Manannan had played in it all. “She was cursed and lost her mind. But last year she got better. She lives in Llewdor now, and is even the regent! She said that Cupids would be welcomed there, if you wanted to visit.”

It was hard to tell with such a soft baby face, but the Cupid seemed to relax even more, and looked almost curious. “I may need to visit then.”

Gwydion smiled. The Cupid turned and started to gather the arrows up, and Gwydion made sure not to move. He wasn’t sure if he should leave, but certainly didn't want to scare the Cupid again. They may look harmless, but the magic in those arrows was extremely powerful. 

“May I ask the name of the one who knows Medusa?”

“Oh, um, I’m in disguise right now? If I could whisper it maybe?”

The Cupid considered. “No, it’s fine. But I hope to meet up again little mortal. Your love for Medusa is intriguing.”

The Cupid fluttered it’s wings and darted up into the air before Gwydion could protest. Gwydion felt the blush heat his cheeks. He wasn’t used to being loved, and loving in return, and Medusa was someone he could never dislike. She was family, and that was important, but he was a big boy too now, he shouldn't need a mum. 

As Gwydion was about to leave to continue on, the glint of gold caught the corner of his eye, the Cupid had missed one of the arrows, it having fallen into the slight dip where the stone meet the surround field. Gwydion picked up the arrow and it fell into dust in his hands. He held the glittering golden dust up to the sun light, it was beautiful and mesmerising. He ripped a small strip off the bottom of his skirt and put the dust in the makeshift pouch. The dust would no doubt come in handy somehow. He tucked that little knotted cloth ball into the pouch with the Tamirite, just in case.


	7. 11-noon: Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Gwydion stumbles across a giant house in the woods, he can't help but investigate.

As he moved eastward a cottage came into view. At first Gwydion didn’t notice how wrong the the cottage was, but as he got closer he noticed the trees around where too small. It was only when he was almost in the clearing he realised that the tree weren’t too small, the cottage was too large. The door way was easily twice as tall as a normal door, the windows twice as high. The thatched roof loomed very far away. Gwydion tried to peak through the windows, but they were too high, and he could only just see over the sill by standing on his toes. He considered turning to jump and see what was inside, but before he could the sound of vicious barking from the other side stopped him.

“Hey! Mine! My Place! Hey! Go AWAY!”

The barking was directly on the other side of the wall, clearly directed at Gwydion. As he tried to think of something to say the was a loud thumping from the other side, someone very very large stomping from one side of the room to closer to the window.

“Shut up you damn dog! There’s nothing there!”

Gwydion reacted before he thought, ducking down and pressing as close to the wall under the sill as possible.

“My place!” The dog growled. 

Gwydion doubted the voice knew what the dog was saying, because the it continued, “Stupid dog, barking a walls. I’d cook you in a second if the old goat wouldn’t notice. You would taste better the all this damn deer.”

There was a sigh. The dog, obviously understanding well enough, had quietened down. Gwydion debated going around and knocking on the door. The voice sounded so defeated. Gwydion felt for them. 

“And now I talking to a dog. This is what happens when you go too long without a good solid meal of human flesh and bone.”

The voice did not just say _human_ did it? His hasty in drawn breath caught the smell of something truly terrible. Burnt hair and stewing flesh. Gwydion gagged and then froze in fear. Had he been heard?

There was shuffling and the sound of footsteps away again. Gwydion released the breath he had been holding. He was about to get away as fast as he could when a muffled cluck from inside stopped him. “I _wish_ you would just kill and eat me.”

This voice was soft, had the same rounded quality of the hens back home, contrasting sharp to the gravel nature of the dogs voice and the harsh vowels of the second voice. There was another being in there, and they had such yearning in the voice when they spoke of they own death. Something in those little words struck a cord deep within the boy, a familiarity with a feeling he had long sort to forget. Despite his fear, despite how urgently he needed to leave, Gwydion could not walk away from the owner that voice. 

Gwydion looked around a spotted a small pile of cut wood. Grabbing a large piece, he dragged it over to under the window. Once he was sure it was stable enough, he climbed up and looked in the window. 

Through the window he could see a kitchen. The small amount of bench below the window he could see was covered in glistening, unidentifiable bits of red meat. With her back to Gwydion, a very large women, and ogress he realised, was bent over a large pot on the iron stove, stirring the thick stew. Gwydion held his nose, not willing to take another breath of whatever he had smelt before. Through the doorway in front of him, Gwydion could see another room.

It wasn’t the most cozy-looking living room he had ever seen. Gwydion was at the only window, and combined with the dark tightly packed stone walls, the room had a dark and cold feeling. He could see a large wooden table, sturdy but plain with two similarly dull chairs. The fact the seat would be as high as Gwydion was tall did not make them more interesting. On the so-old-it-was-grey wooden floor he could just make out the edge of a worn woven rug in a dirty brown colour. The dog, a massive black beast with a unnaturally large jaw was watching Gwydion from its spot on the rug. Gwydion held back a shudder. He would never be a dog person. 

He couldn’t see who had been the third voice. The ogress started to turn, and Gwydion ducked to the side, staying out of sight. It was then, on a new, sharper angle, he saw the cage on the bench below him. 

The cage was small, tiny compare the the surrounding furniture. Inside was a single, forlorn looking hen. Her head was tucked under her wing. The cage bottom was dirty, and lacked food or water. It was clearly the owner of the third voice, and it was no wonder it reminded him of the chickens back home. This hen was clearly intelligent, not one of the silly farm hens. She didn’t deserve to be locked in a tiny cage. 

But how was he going to save her? Could he buy the hen with one of the stones? But the ogress had said she longed for human flesh, and presenting himself to her would not be a good idea. She would kill him easily, if the dog didn’t for entering its territory. 

Before he could come to a decision, the front door slammed open. He sneaked a look, and saw a ogre, clearly the ogress partner. 

The ogre roared, ”Fe, fi, fo, fum! I smell the blood of a...."

"Quiet, you old goat!" interrupted the ogress as she moved out of the kitchen with a large bowl of stew. "That's just a deer you smell! You know how you get when you're hungry. Here! Your lunch! Eat!" 

The ogre sat at the boring table and started to shovel the stew in his mouth. The sight of the chunks of meat being chewed and mashed in the ogres open gob made Gwydion feel more the slightly ill, even if he knew it was deer not man. 

Soon enough the ogre finished, as did the ogress eating with slightly more manners in the other chair. 

"Wife!" shouted the ogre. "Bring me my hen!" 

The ogress sighed. She rose, and muttering to herself, collected the bowls. 

“I could have married that strong ogre in the mountains, who would have gotten his own damn hen, but no, I wanted a house.”

She placed the bowls on the bench and collected the hen, lifting it out of the tiny cage.

“No! Please!” The hen pleaded, “I can’t anymore! You’re killing me!”

The ogress carried the clearly exhausted but still struggling hen into the other room, placing her on the table. Gwydion's hands clenched, if the two went to eat the hen he didn’t known what he would do. 

"Lay!" ordered the ogre.

With horror, Gwydion watched the hen lay a golden egg, pleading the entire time, screaming for mercy. Gwydion shuddered in sympathy. The hens in Llewdor never had such pain while laying, but then Gwydion saw the egg.

It was solid reflective gold.

The ogre laughed, and passed the hen back to the ogress while he took the egg and put it in his pocket. The ogress returned to the kitchen, and from his position out of sight, Gwydion could hear the hen being placed back in its cage. The hen spoke not another word.

The ogress moved out of the room. He could hear them talking in the other room, but didn’t pay attention. Soon, the sound dropped off and snores filled the air. It appeared that both ogres had decided to take an after lunch nap. 

Now was his chance.

Gwydion tried the window. Thankfully it slide open smoothly. Twisting, balancing half in and half out of the window, he scooped up the cage. Juggling the awkward weight, he wriggled back out the window and closed it carefully. He climbed down off the wood, and setting the cage down, dragged the wood back into the pile, and spent a few moments erasing the drag marks. Hopefully, the ogre’s wouldn’t have any idea what had happened. 

The cage had a large latch on the door, which required a squeezing motion to force it open. Gwydion had no where the needed strength to do so. Looking around, he spotted the wood pile. A the massive axe was embedded in a large stump for cutting the wood, but Gwydion doubted he would even be able to lift it, let alone remove it from the stump. He then spotted a much smaller, half Gwydion sized ‘hand axe’ was hanging up over a basket filled with small twigs and branches under the eve. Taking the cage and small axe to the edge of the forest, just so if the ogre came out he could run into the trees, he carefully aimed and swung the axe down on the latch. The first time, it bounced off, almost hitting Gwydion in the face. It also woke the sleeping hen.

“Wha-? Ahhhh!” The hen yelled seeing Gwydion looming overheard with an axe.

“Shhh!” Gwydion looked nervously at the house, “I’m trying to get you out! I need to pop the latch.”

“Don’t swing the axe then! Use it as a lever!”

Oh. That was a much better idea. Gwydion manoeuvred the axe head into the latch and pushed down on the handle. The latch snapped open. 

“You are going to have to help me. The ogre clipped my wings to stop me from getting away.”

He lifted the hen out, tucking it under his arm, before throwing the cage into the deep undergrowth. He was about to return the axe when he heard a shout behind him from the house. Not even taking the chance of turning to look, Gwydion ran into the forest, hen held in one hand, axe in the other.


	8. Noon-1pm: Birds of a Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwydion wonders why no one can just speak plainly around here.

At first the forest was mostly pine trees, tall and straight. Very quickly however, the trees lost all there leaves on lower branches and became things of needle like claws, which seemed to snap at Gwydion’s face as he ran. When Gwydion was running, he rarely noticed the little details around him, concentrating instead on the step ahead. This focus had helped in the past, channeling all his energy into the next move, but it did mean the hen’s panicked screams to quit took some time to register. 

“Slow down! The ogre isn’t even following you! Stop you crazy girl!”

Gwydion slowed and bent over panting. He was about to drop the axe when the hen yelled again, “Don’t drop the axe! Hold it up!”

“What?” _pant,_ “Why?” _pant,_ as he weakly raised the suddenly heavy axe.

“The trees.”

“What about,” _pant,_ “the trees?”

“Look at them. These aren’t your regular happy still trees. You’ve ran right into a Dark Forest!”

That got Gwydion’s attention. He had read enough now to know what that meant, when the words Dark Forest had implied capital letters. Dark Forests had sentient trees. Some books claimed the trees naturally protected the secrets of the deep forests, others claimed that Dark Forests were unnatural and twisted by evil magics. All agree that the trees in Dark Forests were things of great magic. Trees that tended to kill any who got close enough to catch in their long spindly branches. Branches that even now had shifted, casting long menacing shadows. 

Gwydion lifted the axe. The twisting wooden hands paused and withdrew. Keeping an eye on his surroundings, he crept forward. 

“You’re going the wrong way!”

“No, I’m not. I need to see the witches, and they must be on the other side of this. It makes sense.”

“You’re insane. I thought I had a death wish. Ogres, Dark Forests, and now witches!”

Gwydion wasn’t sure how long he had ran, but it didn’t take long at all for him to make it through the Dark Forest, and only one or two threatening waves of the axe let them past easily. He did wonder if Danny had knowingly sent him into a Dark Forest, but thought it unlikely. The man obviously hadn’t known the forest had become Dark. Everyone he had meet here had agreed that since Lolotte had come here things had become worse. It would be just as likely the forest had been as affected. As Danny never seemed to leave his beach, and few traveled or lived in Tamir, it would be possible for him to never find out. 

“So, my name is Gwydion. What is yours?”

“Gwydion? Isn’t that a boys name?”

“Oh, um yeah.” Gwydion looked down at the hen, who was studying his face, no doubt looking at the girl features he had right now. “Genesta did some magic, and this was the result. I really am a boy, but don’t tell anyone.”

The hen was quiet then said softly, “I used to live with Genesta on her island, under her protection. One day a man kidnapped me, and cast some sort of spell on me, that I had to lay when he commanded. But while he was fleeing he to was caught but the ogre and eaten. Before they could eat me too I laid an egg, thinking it would save me. I wish I hadn’t. It just meant I was held prisoner instead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You saved me. I think that is enough. Call me Aviana.”

“I saw you lay at the ogres house.” Gwydion’s diplomacy lessons failed him.

The hen stiffened, “So what, you rescue me so I can lay for you instead.”

“No! I meant, well, you were in a lot pain.”

“Golden eggs aren’t natural. Nor is it natural for me to lay on command. Together means I suffer for every egg. It was bad before, on the island, but then I only landed an egg every other full moon or so. The Ogre demanded an egg every day.”

Gwydion couldn’t image the pain of doing that every single day. “I wouldn’t ask you to lay any eggs at all. I just couldn’t leave you there. Do you have anywhere to go? I mean I could return you to the island, I have to go back before tomorrow dawn.”

“What, and live with a fairy who didn’t even come save me for months while at the ogres? And don’t tell me she didn’t know I was gone, her little fairies used to take the golden eggs. I obviously wasn’t important enough to look for.”

Gwydion couldn’t say anything to that. Except, “Maybe she did look, but couldn’t find you?”

“A fairy queen couldn’t find a creature of magic in her own lands? No she just had to want to find me to do so. I can’t fly, I’m exhausted, and I need to rest. I’m going to stay with you.”

“Oh wait! I might have something which can help.” Gwydion put down the hen and opened his belt, removing the healing potion. “This is a healing potion. Open your beak and I’ll dripped a little in.”

Aviana’s expression was doubtful, but did as asked. Gwydion dribbled a few drops, and hen looked better almost immediately. Experimentally she extended her wings, which looked stronger, but still lacked the long feathers needed for flight.

“Thank you. I will stay with you. Better the enemy you know.”

Gwydion blinked a few times, "I'm not going to hurt you!"

"You say that _now._ This time at least I'll see the cage coming, you couldn't hide something in the dark! I can get some rest in."

Gwydion sighed and waved a hand, to pick the hen back up, but the hen instead started to walk along beside him. Gwydion commented, “I don’t think staying with me will be relaxing. Maybe I can leave you with the dwarves. They are only interested in Tamirite, so wouldn’t make you lay.”

Hearing Aviana’s very unimpressed huff, Gwydion said, “And I’ll come get you when I’m going to leave?”

The hen nodded. “You have a deal human.”

Gwydion had a feeling he might regret this deal somehow. 

Gwydion emerged from the tree line to see the mountain rise steeply ahead. Set into the grey stone was a giant skull in white stone the colour of old bones. The open gaping maul of a mouth had sharp jagged teeth, above which was two nose holes, and then deeply shadowed soulless eyes, curved as if the skulls was grimacing in pain, or despair. From a thin crack in the top, a curl of black smoke escaped. 

“Well, we’re doomed.” The hen said, flatly.

“It might not be that bad.” 

Pause. The all pervasive silence was threatening in the way true quiet where there should be life is. 

Gwydion sighed. “Yeah, ok, maybe you should stay here. Look, I’ll even leave the axe.”

“Of course, that makes sense, because I can use an axe twice times my size.”

Ignoring the hen’s snarking for now, Gwydion put down the axe. The simple fact was he couldn’t be carrying it inside, as he had no idea what the witches would do if they thought he meant them harm. 

Long ago, Medusa had once tried to explain the difference between wizards, witches, mages, sorcerers, and druids and all the rest. Wizards used wands, and mostly made potions and spoken charms, which were short incantations which caused quick reactions. Witches didn’t use wands, but sometimes made effigies and often used curses, longer more powerful chanted verses. Mages didn’t use tools, but were limited to just the pure elements. Sorcerers used scrolls and talismans and often carried staffs. Druids used nature. Medusa was a druid, of sorts. The thing was that a magic user wasn’t limited to one kind of magic, but they normally specialised and master only one in the lives. If the people lived here were called witches, he could guess they would be more likely to curse him then simply shout a magic word at him. And if they tried to curse him then he maybe had a little time to get out of the way. 

That didn’t mean he shouldn’t be cautious.

Gwydion thought he should knock, but there was no door to do so. So he paused at the opening and called, “Hello?”

“What?” The voice was a painful rasp.

“A visitor?” Another voice, slightly higher in pitch continued.

“Come in!” A third, slower, vowels more extended voice finished.

Gwydion edged inside. 

Inside the cave was actually quiet dismal and dreary, despite the giant open mouth door. The stone was roughly hewed, leaving rough, sharp walls. In one side a set of shelves had been cut, on which was many flasks and vials, all filled with unnatural coloured liquids and unidentifiable floating fleshy things. The other side had a high alter, complete with human skull, and dripping candle. In the center of the cave a greenish, foul brew boiled ominously within the cauldron over a hot fire. The green brew looked disgusting... and smelled that way, too. Three old crones in black robes stood in front of the alter. They were bent and twisted in age, stringy white hair hung in dirty clumps from the head over pale grey skin. Gwydion looked in horror at their eyes, or more, the lack of them. All three had cavernous empty spaces, their eyelids sealed close where their eyes should be, but lacking the eye ball itself. 

One held up a glass eye, scanning Gwydion from head to foot, peering at him with a frightening mixture of curiosity and malice before passing the eye to the next, who did the same thing, before passing to the last. 

The middle one crackled, “What a pretty little thing you are, dearie. Come here and let me touch your beautiful hair.”

The first smiled, more a baring of blackened rotting teeth, “Oh yes, sweetie, come closer.”

The last licked her lips, “I think you look good enough to eat.”

“Oh yes, the perfect addition to our stew.” And with that the one with the eye leapt forward, and started to chase Gwydion. As he backed away, the eye flew through the air. Almost more reflex then thought, Gwydion jumped forward, snatching the eye out of the air.

“Our eye!”

“No!”

"Give us back our eye!" the old witches pleaded.

Gwydion started to talk, but his voice was drowned out by the wails of the three ugly hags as they begged for the return of their glass eye. "We need our eye!" the three crones cried. "Give it back to us!" The old one-eyed witches seemed powerless without their glass eye, stumbling around, hands out stretched. Gwydion actually felt rather sorry for them. 

Gwydion backed away and right out of the cave. He could still hear the witches screaming from the outside. 

“That sounded like it went well.” Aviana was standing on the axe handle, a small pile of feathers around her. She had been grooming the broken feathers from her wings when the commotion had sounded. 

Gwydion, in the stronger light outside, looked at the eye. It was bigger then a real eye, smooth and a solid white glass. The iris was a deep midnight blue, around a small steady black pupil. There were no visible runes but it made Gwydion’s hand almost numb and his teeth ache with the tingle of magic. Even if it was magical, Gwydion most certainly did not want to keep it. 

The screaming had quieten to moans now, so Gwydion re-entered the dismal cave. The three one-eyed witches pleaded, “PLEASE give us back our eye!!”

“I need your help. In exchange I’ll return the eye to you and not bother you again. Are we clear?”

The hags huddled together, before, all three at once said, “Deal.”

Gwydion threw the glass eye to the three old hags, who deftly caught it out of the air. Once in their hands, they at once took turns peering at him. The ugly old hags seemed supremely relieved to receive back their precious glass eye. 

Gwydion gave them a moment before asking, “Where can I find the magic fruit tree with the healing fruit?”

In a syrupy voice, one hag said, “Listen closely, dear, and we’ll give you this as a little gift."

The first hag intoned, “To make healthy one who is weak,”

The second continued, “Grows the fruit that you seek.”

The thirds voice whined, “Flying water you must brave,”

The first seemed almost gleeful, “Between shadows in blackened cave,”

The second cackled, “Beware the monster hiding deep,”

The third smiled with rotting teeth, “And over chasm and marsh leap.”

Gwydion nodded, repeating it under his breath a few times to memorise the lines. “Genesta’s talisman has been stolen by Lolotte, how can I get it back?”

“Help that nasty ugly fairy?”

All three shuddered. Before Gwydion could say anything another hag cut in, “But it would annoy Lolotte.”

“Who does she think she is? Coming here,”

“All dramatic and overblown…”

“And claiming this land!”

“We were here first!”

“And we got rid of those so called guardians!”

“The box should be ours!”

Gwydion managed to squeeze into the conversation, “What box?”

All three feel silent immediately. 

“Oh, nothing sweet dear…”

“Just a silly old box…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

_As if that didn’t make Gwydion worry more!_

But one of the hags was talking again, “Lolotte’s boy is lonely.”

“Oh yes….”

“Offer yourself as a playmate!” There was a leer in those words that Gwydion didn’t understand.

“Yes, say you’ll take care of his needs.”

“All his needs…” The witches snickered, ugly and dirty. 

“A cute little girl like you should have no trouble playing.”

“And once inside…”

One hag smirked and echoed, “Inside…”

All three chorused, “Getting the talisman will be easy!”

“Now, **GET OUT!** ”

Gwydions tumbled back out of the cave, not quiet sure why he had just left like that. On the other hand, he had at least some idea now what to do. First, find the fruit, then go and offer to be a playmate to Lolottes’ son. 

Easy. Right?


	9. 1-2pm: Counting Eggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwydion tries to puzzle out the witches rhyme.

Gwydion, with Aviana trailing at his heels, moved back through the forest, axe leading the way. Now he had two hands, carrying the axe wasn’t as bad, but his arms still burned from the weight. Along the way he talked to the hen about Llewdor, about the people living there. Gwydion avoided talking about himself specifically, you could never be totally sure who was listening in, especially when surrounded by sentient trees. They avoided the ogres house by hugging the line of the mountain, which is how they walked past the start of the trail up the slope to Lollette’s castle. From the bottom, Gwydion could still see the massive castle clinging to the mountain side, all intimidating black stone, and sharp cutting edges, as if it was trying to stab the sky above it. He could just make out large dark figures flying around the towers, possibly giant birds, or maybe small dragons. Aviana thought he was insane when he suggested just that. 

They continued northward, and emerged from the forests into a small clearing with a waterfall tumbling down the mountain side. The spray of the water cooled the entire area, and Gwydion, with a huff, allowed the axe to drop to dangle down his side. After that it was relatively quick, the Dark Forest behind them, and following the small stream, to get to the dwarves house. There was no one home, but Gwydion took some time to grab a bowl of stew for himself and a hunk of bread for Aviana, figuring the dwarves wouldn’t mind (or perhaps even notice). He left the hawthorn berries he still had for her as well, just in case she got hungry, warning the hen not to eat the seeds. He also wrote a brief note for the dwarves to find asking them to keep the hen safe. At Aviana’s insistence he didn’t mention the golden eggs, even though he thought that might have helped. It was while he was washing the dishes and looking out the window he thought about the song the witches had sung. ‘Flying water’ could mean many things. The water in the sea wasn’t really flying, more sitting, but maybe it meant the surf. Both the temple pool and the pond were more ‘pooling’ then ‘flying’. The biggest problem was, apart from finding the flying water, was he still couldn’t swim. Really, when he got back home he was going to demand swimming lessons. 

‘Between shadows in blackened cave’ seemed to imply some sort of tunnel under the mountain. Which would make sense he guessed, as it wasn’t like he could go over the mountain with Lolotte around. So he had to brave ‘flying water’ to get into the tunnel. ‘Beware the monster hiding deep’ was worrying, he had nothing to fight what the witches would consider a monster. Nor did he have anything that would allow him to ‘over chasm and marsh leap.’ But he did have a little bit of flying potion in his belt, enough, if he sipped, for maybe three or four lots of few minutes or so each. As long as he was careful, that should be enough to get across even a wide gap. 

“If you think any harder you’ll give yourself a stroke.” Aviana commented from where she was resting next to the fire on a pile of blankets Gwydion and heaped up for that purpose. 

“The witches told me where I need to go, but I don’t understand it.”

“I don’t know why you bother, nothing ever goes right around here.”

“Don’t say that. You’re free now, and that is better, don’t you think?”

“Humpf.”

Gwydion slumped dejected against the sink. 

“Alright, why don’t you tell me. Misery loves company and all.”

“Flying water you must brave, between shadows in blackened cave.”

“Well what’s the problem? You know where flying water is already, can’t be that hard to find a cave around there.”

“What? Where is ‘flying water’?”

“What do you mean, we walked past it! The waterfall of course!”

It was like a slap in the face to realise that could most certainly count as flying water. Of course! And it made sense, with the waterfall falling down the mountainside. If there was some sort of hidden tunnel under or behind the waterfall to connect with the other side of the mountains….

“Aviana! You’re a genius! I’m going now! Stay safe!”

Before the hen got more the a startled cluck out from Gwydion’s sudden excitement, Gwydion was already out the door. 

The small pool at the base of the waterfall looked deep, certainly too deep to wade. But when Gwydion looked closer, the north side of the waterfall had a small ledge, with a patch of brightly green moss growing, which extended behind the falls. Going back downstream and leaping over a narrow section before making his way back, Gwydion looked from the north side, and could see a thin gap between the quickly falling water and the stone behind. The roar of the falls drowned out all other sounds. He edged forward and carefully held on to the slippery wet stones.

At the actual waterfall’s edge, he reached into the stream to try and find a hand hold. The water was fast and slammed into his arm with surprising force, knocking him off balance. The other hand, thankfully, held on. Trying again, this time by inching along the stone, he was slightly more successful, managing to feel the corner, where the stone fell away into a space behind. Thankfully, his hand brushed the distinctive feel of a vine. After a few hard tugs, Gwydion felt confident it would hold his weight. Sliding his foot around the same corner, water soaked into the hem of his skirts from below, and the waterfall his back, but the stone was still underfoot. Taking a deep breath, Gwydion swag on the vine and fell into the unseen space. 

He slammed in the stone on the other side with some force, and his right shoulder protested loudly in throbbing pain. Quickly shambling for more solid footing of a small ledge at the back the cave, Gwydion took a moment to assess. His shoulder looked fine, but would probably bruise. He rolled it a few times and it didn’t feel too bad. His skirts were soaking wet from the knee down, and he squeezed out the linen. His shirt was also wet from the spray, and he considered taking it off, and wringing it out too, but it was warm enough that it should be fine to wear. He didn’t understand how girls could stand it all the time, keeping track of all these layers, making sure they are clean and dry. Sighing, Gwydion looked around the small space he had ended up in. Vertically there was a surprising amount of space, stretching up behind the falls. At his feet the pool lapped gently against the stone which was covered in a thick layer of silt. Moss, thick and emerald green, blanketed the stones. Trailing up the walls was a lattice of vines. At the back of the recess was a large crack, a black tunnel just as tall as Gwydion, and probably only as wide as well. Across the crack was a few pieces of rotting board, which looked like it would disintegrate as soon as touched. Painted on the wood was a series of dwarf letters. 

Gwydion recognised first part, the warning was the same as he had seen what felt like days ago, but had only been that morning in the mine. The second half he didn’t understand. He could only hope it didn’t mean the tunnels would collapse down on him while he was inside. He pulled the wooden slats off, the rotten wood breaking away from he stone easily.

Gwydion peaked into the tunnel. His body, by blocking what little light managed to seep from the outside, caused the tunnel to be dark as pitch. He took one step forward, and under his boots came the cracking sound of something brittle snapping. Gwydion dragged his foot while backing out again. In the light he could see the snapped halves of long white bones. 

Bones which looked large enough to be human. And had visible teeth marks scored into the surface. 

Gwydion shuddered. What kind of monster was lurking ahead? At any other time he would have taken the bones as the warning they were and turned straight around. But right now he had to go ahead. 

He touched his belt. He had nothing to fight a monster with. But he did have a lantern to help with the dark though. He ran his fingers over each pouch, and hesitated on the spider. Maybe…Gwydion raised the spider to eye height, “Hello again.”

The eight little eyes regarded Gwydion steadily, the black pinchers clicked, “Mmmm?”

“I know we don’t talk often, but well, I think we might have something to talk about now.”

“And what would that be?”

“Well, I’m about to go into this cave, see?” Gwydion moved the jar to face the tunnel. “That there is a big monster somewhere inside.”

“And what has that got to do with me?”

“Well, you like caves right? And I’ve been looking for the perfect place to let you out again. So, I could let you out here, in this cave, and you could let me through, but eat the monster, and any animals who wander in to the cave…”

The spider clicked for a few moments, waiting as only a spider can, its long hairy legs moving slowly and almost hypnotically. “You have an agreement. However I will let you past once and once only.”

“That’s fine.” With that Gwydion twisted the lid off the jar and flicked the spider out, watching it as in ran into the darkness, growing in size every single step. It was already the size of a large dog when it disappeared out of sight. He had forgotten how large the spider was normally. He almost felt sorry for the monster. Should he warn the monster maybe? The spider would take some time to spin its web, so if the monster was innocent, he could warn it on the way back, giving it enough time to get away. And if was the kind of monster which attacked first, well, he just hoped he was fast enough to get away and leave the monster to its fate.

Gwydion pulled out the lantern and lit the wick. The lantern was a cheery yellow light, and Gwydion edged into the tunnel. The tunnel was a smooth hewed almost circle, just tall enough for Gwydion to walk upright without fearing bumping his head on anything. The stone was a flat grey, lacking layers or the glitter of the other dwarf mine. He couldn’t imagine what they they had been mining for here. After a few tight turns back and forth, the ground ever sloping downwards, the tunnel suddenly opened up into a large cavern. The roof and sides retreated into the dark beyond the soft glow of the lantern. In the dim circle of light Gwydion could make out slender dripping stalactites, like dripping shark teeth, layered and threatening. The tunnel floor had large blob like growths too, like giants socks filled with footballs, large enough to hide behind. Gwydion moved forward slowly, keeping to what appeared to be some sort of track, an area of slightly smooth stone in that weaved between sharp outcrops and stone pillars. 

Most of the stalagmites were featureless, worn smooth by their own creation. However, as Gwydion moved deeper into the cavern, he came across two large stalagmites near one side. Twice as tall as the boy, there were also three times as thick. Instead of the smooth sides, each layer was filled with arched windows, like a cathedral of stone. Gwydion wondered how such a thing could form. His fingers itched to touch, and at the same time, he couldn’t dream of touching such a divine masterpiece. 

In the darkness, Gwydion heard stones rattle against each other, as if disturbed by an unseen force. He doubted it was the spider, who despite its size, had moved as silently as a wisp of breeze. 

Gwydion continued on. He had yet to see any branching tunnels, but the trail moved into the centre of the cavern, and he followed, sometimes having to climb down over rocky drops. The air was dense, surprisingly humid, as Gwydion could fell the sweat gather across his back where the band of his skirt settled. The water from the falls had dried, leaving his shirt somewhat stiff along the collar. His feet rubbed in his boots, and he wondered if he would have blisters by the end of the day with all the walking he had been doing. At first he thought his footsteps echoed oddly, bouncing off the now distant walls, but when he halted to rest leaning on a jutting stone wall, the echo stopped an oddly long time after. It wasn’t an echo.

He also had the feeling the thing out there, in the deep, was stalking him. 

His cheerly little lantern seemed also claustrophobic now, the extent of its light throwing long menacing shades. Every step, every gentle swing of the light made the darkness dance, looming above him. Shadows radiated out from him, cast by every strange stone formation. His feet quickened, matching the rabbiting beat of his heart, his lungs bellowed, causing harsh little pants, every one an exclamation in the silence of the long, lonely, tunnel. Stones scatted before him, kicked up by his panicked scramble. 

Gwydion tried to spilt his attention between looking ahead, avoiding odd dips and rents in the stone path, and looking around for the monster. The last thing he needed was a twisted ankle, but he also didn’t want to be taken by surprise. Just as turned back to the trail, out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadow move parallel to the light, rather then away. His head jerked back, trying to see. 

The lanterns arch was jerky, wide, the light too dim. Gwydion started to jog, his hand without the lantern scraping along stone which loomed to either side occasionally as he tried to balance on the loose stones. The echo was louder, much closer then they should be, like the click of claws on stones.

A low, hungry growl rent the air. 

Gwydion, blinded by fear, almost tumbled head first into the chasm and slipped forward on the loose shale and slightly damp stones. His swinging motion over balanced him, and he cried out in the dark as the lantern arched away from him, landing against one large stone column, in the sudden shifting light Gwydion caught the reflection of blazing red eyes and long white fangs. Gwydion crawled backwards, eyes locked on the menacing presence in front of him. A soft whimper escaped his lips. A rolling ripping growl answered, making every hair on Gwydions body stand on end. 

Everything else seemed to fade, the distant drip of water, the needles of pain where the stones cut into his hands, his short shallow breaths. All that was left was the eyes in the darkness, starting at him with hunger and rage. 

There was nothing of intelligence in those eyes. This was primal, a predator, a _monster_. Gwydion was going to die here, alone in this cave, thousands of miles from his family. They would never know what had happened, this monster would eat any evidence. Behind him, he felt the sudden drop of stone. He had reached the chasm, there was no more escape. 

For a brief eternity, all Gwydion could think of was the unrelenting grief which would pressed down on Medusa, her face marked with broken lost love, with not knowing. Her rage would be terrible. He somehow doubted that anyone, in Llewdor, Daventry, and if she followed the trail to here, even in Tamir would survive. He remembered a conversation, when he had asked if she missed him when he had lessons in Daventry. 

‘With every breath. I am _old_ , Gwydion. I know it is hard for you to understand, young as you are. But I was old when Manannan was but a babe. I was old when his father and his father before him were just a possibility in their mothers hearts. I had forgotten what it was like to care for anyone, for anything outside of my cave, and even truly inside it as well. It was how Manannan managed to trick me, I was tired of life, my family was gone and I was so very alone. And then there was you, a light in the shadow. You are my joy, and laughter, and love. Every second you are away is an agony of darkness, and my breath comes no easier until you return home safe.’

And now, with his death just one step away, muscles tense, ready to pin and rend and destroy, Gwydion would never return home again. 

Gwydion’s sob cracked the air, and the monster leapt.

Gwydion flinched back, and the shift in his weight was enough to send him tumbling into down into the dark. The monster, which Gwydion had seen only as a smear of black fur and grasping claws roared above him, denied of its prey. Gwydions hands scrambled across the loose stones, the pain from his bruised shoulder jolting him from his frozen state. Falling faster every moment down the increasingly steep slide, he managed to grab an outcrop of stone halting his fall, wrenching his shoulder, scraping his face against the rocks. Small stones continued to fall around him, the monster sending them ahead of its more cautious approach towards the boy. Refusing to look at how close the monster was, to fall again into the trap of its eyes, Gwydion fumbled in the dark at his belt. What had been the plan? Flying potion! After the smooth old leather gave way, he quickly sipped at the small potion vial. The thick choking taste of the flying potion coated his mouth, and without hesitation, Gwydion pushed as hard away from the chasms wall, courage and resolution burning through him. 

The monster was only just out of arms reach above him, the light from the distant lantern silhouetting its hulking form, matted black fur surrounding a vaguely humanoid shape. Gwydion spun off into the air, the monsters teeth snarling at the out of reach boy. Gwydion ignored looking at its red glowing eyes as he flew quickly up the chasm, landing on the far side. Lighter then a feather, his toes tried to dig into the stone, and he failed as he tried to run, refusing to look back. The monster, he hoped, could not to cross the chasm. He could hear it, stalking back and forth, sending stones into the deep. It roared again, displeasure echoing after Gwydion. It was few seconds before he realised he was shuffling along with normal weight, the potion having worn off. In the dark, now with the lantern gone, he couldn’t see where he was going, but a single turn exposed the soft glow of sunlight seeping around turn ahead. With relief, he surged forward and out into the light.


End file.
